Braveheart: Gone Rum
by Tom Bombadilo
Summary: William W. and Hamish live it up...


**Braveheart—Gone Rum**

_Saraman and James Norrington; 2004_

_A/N: This is what happens when two fruity friends get together, stay up all night watching Braveheart, go insane, and try to write something cool…as a round robin. Unfortunately, this sorry excuse for a story was preserved, despite my desperate pleas to destroy it, i.e. "Throw it in the fire! Destroy it! What are you waiting for? Just let it go!" Well, since it wasn't destroyed, here it is for any crazy Scottish person to read. By the way, it's my island!_

William Wallace opened pale blue eyes and lay staring up at the shadowed ceiling. The sun had yet to bring its light to the window of the sod and grass dwelling in which William resided now, but still he could make out the lines and crevasses of each lengthy strand of yellow grass that made up the roof. It was that cool darkness before dawn and William stirred and arose, going to the door and outside. The fair green country was shimmering with dew and shrouded in some areas with a thick veil of Scottish mist.

"Where are ye, Longshanks?" muttered William under his breath.

"Let me kill him! Let me kill him!" shouted Hamish, sidling up to his friend. "His every breath insults me! Let me kill him, and then you can give the order to attack!"

"What?" asked William in surprise.

"Oh, sorry," offered Hamish. "Wrong movie."

"That's all right," responded Will, punching Hamish in his bearded face.

The burly man staggered back and broke into a good-natured smile. "Are we fightin' English today?" he asked hopefully.

William regarded his friend. "Aye, we are," he said with a grin. He turned and went into the hut, soon returning with his great sword slung over his back. William painted his face like a clown and went gallivanting after the English army, who tore up turf trying to get away. He swung his sword hither and thither, closely resembling the Irish maniac.

"AHHHHH!" they all shrieked, dropping their weapons and fleeing in a panic, like little babies. As William and Hamish passed the babies, William noticed that Hamish was staring goggle-eyed at them. He stopped him with a sturdy hand. "What is it, Hamish?" he asked.

Hamish pointed at the babies.

"Aye, I know," replied William. "What about them?"

"They're…they're…," stammered Hamish, "Its!"

"Its!" shrieked Longshanks being stampeded by little Its. They all got up and dashed towards England. They ran so fast, they looked like a bolt of lightening.

"No!" cried William, his face torn with anguish as he staggered to Hamish and bore him away back to his home, in hopes of reviving him. When the lightening had struck his friend, it had softened all his muscles and rendered his limbs useless. Upon entering the door, Hamish found himself being cradled in the arms of none other than William Wallace. Hamish sacked him with a brawny fist and William dropped him upon the soft dirt floor of the hovel. Hamish leapt to his feet.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where is Agamemnon?"

Our hero was confused. "Agamemnon?" he wondered aloud. "Who is he? Was he the McCollum who was killed in the ski-by fruiting last week?"

"Ski-by fruiting?" asked Hamish. "What's that?"

"Well," responded Will, "Longshanks skied down from the mountain last week and lobbed bananas at a McCollum until he died tragically. Is that your man?"

"How dare you address me with such impudence!" railed Hamish. "I am king Menelaus of Sparta, and you are my next victim!"

Hamish drew his rusty sword and began to madly swipe at William with it. William promptly drew his own great sword from the scabbard on his back and met Hamish's slash. William's head was spinning for lack of air. The sword work of his opponent was good – far better than he had known. Hamish leapt down from the top of the riverbank, falling upon Wallace.

"Helen?" said Hamish. "Where's my precious punching bag?"

William crumpled under the weight of his friend's robust body and felt himself sinking into the muddy bank of the stream. Hamish leapt up and raised his sword for a finishing blow. Luckily, William was able to roll out of the way in time. Hamish grunted angrily and hugged Will.

"Do you want to play chess?" asked Longshanks.

"Shear!" said Hamish, punching Will.

"Will ye stop punchin' me?

"Sorry," said Hamish, punching Will.

"Aughh!" cried William. "If you don't stop punchin' me, I'll package you and send you off to Longshanks for a birthday present!"

Hamish sacked him again.

Will grabbed a rock and threw it at Hamish's head. "Take that, you stupid, low-down, yellow-bellied, fat-necked, weasel-nose!"

Hamish turned red in the face and it seemed that steam was wafting from his ears.

Without warning, small white flowers grew out of William's ears.

Hamish was aghast. He whisked William home and gave him a bath and some chamomile tea. He pulled all the flowers out of William's ears and arranged them in a vase that adorned the otherwise unremarkable wooden table. William was feeling a bit better by then, and he even commented positively about the flowers.

"Flowers for me?" said William. "You shouldn't have!" He grabbed the vase out of his hands and threw the costly clay container forcefully at Hamish. Then, William started doing a Gollum impression. "Our name…our name…is…William Wallace," he said. His two friends just stared at him. A lasting silence ensued that blanketed everything. William obstinately crossed his arms and drew his sword with his teeth. He slashed Hamish's hair off just at the top, giving him a monk-do.

"NOOOOO!" shrieked Hamish. All of a sudden, a short English midget with a sword that was about five times bigger than he was came up behind William and slashed William's head off. The short dude grabbed the head and put it on London Bridge.

"A-ha-ha-ha!" laughed the short little dude. However, what he did not know was that the head he cut off was not William Wallace's head. It was the head of Robert the Bruce's dad. But before he died, he told one of Longshank's men about a party that William planned to attend. So the men went to the party and found William with his head stuck in a toilet while bobbing for apples.

"Help me!" begged William. Hamish yanked Will's head out of the toilet.

"Thank-you!" said Will, punching Hamish. He yammered like a little goat as he scuttled away.

"I'm getting away!" he exclaimed. He almost got away, but it was too late. Hamish sneaked up behind him and chopped him up into pieces.

"William Wallace's head was set upon London Bridge, his arms and legs sent to the four corners of England. They did not have the affect that Longshanks intended."

A few days after William died, Hamish stood on the rolling plains of yellow grass, a tear streaking his bold cheek. He had William's mighty and immortal sword in his fingers and he was staring off into the distant hills clad with mist.

Suddenly, an unexpected thing took place. Hamish saw something bizarre hopping towards him. "What's this?" he pondered aloud. He soon noticed that it was Will's head.

"Hello, Hamish," the head said. "I have a bone to pick with you, you turncoat!"

Hamish shrieked and died.

"Okay," said Will, "if that's the way you want it." He hopped away.

P.S. Will's crazy Irish friend became the king of Ireland. He could finally say, "It's my island!" and be telling the truth.

P.S.S. The French woman pushed Longshank's girly son out the window into the sewer.

**Finis **


End file.
